


At the Crossroads

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil (MCU Avengers Universe) [23]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Family, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutants, Physical Disability, no children were harmed in the making of this fic, so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was why he handled things so well when they went belly up; he was always prepared for the worst. Have a backup for his backup. He’d learned that from one Phil Coulson. So when the bed rocked and a loud sound shook him, Clint rolled off the side, knife in one hand and gun in the other, and he was moving before he was fully awake. He weighed seven different scenarios and responses as he stepped into his boots, thankful he’d been so tired last night he’d fallen asleep in his sweatpants. His compound bow was in the closet, childproof panel clicking open with a swipe of his thumb. No more than fifteen seconds after he woke, he was giving the signal knock on the kids’ bedroom door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in my unfinished file for awhile. I finished it while taking pain meds after surgery, so who knows if it makes sense. Just enjoy!

One of the first lies Clint learned was that promises meant no more than the air they were breathed out with. There was no such thing as a money back guarantee; you paid your money and you took your chances as the barkers used to say after the suckers had gone home for the night but their money had stayed. Soon as Carson discovered Clint was good at it, making people believe they had a chance at winning, he’d put him on a rotation of games from knock down the milk bottles to the goldfish bowl pitch. With Clint’s boyish face and his gift of gab, he brought in damn good hauls; Carson even ignored the fact Clint would sometimes let people win a big stuffed animal after Clint explained it was good salesmanship. Who could resist the sight of a teenage girl carrying a unicorn roughly the size of her own body weight that her brand new boyfriend had just won?

Smoke and mirrors. That was the best metaphor Clint knew for how the world worked the first two decades of his life. His act looked magical from the stands, but up close, his costume was getting threadbare, the stitching redone in three colors of thread, sequins reglued and reused. Jaques used the smoke machine to hide his cheats and he weighted arrows, sometimes using magnets to make sure he hit his target. Even though Clint had never used any tricks, he still deflected attention for the big gasp of the finale, and he certainly lied through his teeth about what he was or was not capable of. Glitter and sawdust. A fantasy to hide the way his stomach rumbled with hunger and his body shook with cold on the long nights sleeping outside without a blanket.

Deep in his heart, Clint never truly lost that lesson. It didn’t matter that he had a steady paycheck from SHIELD or a partner like Natasha or a whole phalanx of crazy friends who were even more fucked up than he was which, honestly, Clint had never thought possible. Even with Phil  in his bed every night to keep him warm, and Josh and Bella in the next room, he still expected the other shoe to drop at any moment. The curtain to be pulled back, everyone to see the real Clint Barton and recoil in horror or disgust. So many promises -- I’ll always come back, I’ll never leave you, I understand, I’m not responsible, I’m worth it -- that Clint knew he damn well couldn’t keep but made anyway. One day he wouldn’t be back because his job was his job, and once carney white trash, always carney white trash. But still he told the little lies, made everyone believe what he said was true.

That was why he handled things so well when they went belly up; he was always prepared for the worst. Have a backup for his backup. He’d learned that from one Phil Coulson. So when the bed rocked and a loud sound shook him, Clint rolled off the side, knife in one hand and gun in the other, and he was moving before he was fully awake. He weighed seven different scenarios and responses as he stepped into his boots, thankful he’d been so tired last night he’d fallen asleep in his sweatpants. His compound bow was in the closet, childproof panel clicking open with a swipe of his thumb. No more than fifteen seconds after he woke, he was giving the signal knock on the kids’ bedroom door.

“We’re fine.” Margaret said through the door. “Orders?”

“Jarvis?” Clint asked the AI. “Sitrep? And where’s Phil?”

“There has been an explosion in the lab. Master Stark is enroute to assess the damage,” Jarvis replied. “Agent Coulson is enroute from the airport; his flight landed fifteen minutes ago.”

“Keep him informed, Jarvis.” Clint tapped before he cracked the bedroom door. “Could be an accident, Maggie. I’m going to …”

Another shudder shook the building and the alarm rang out, loud angry beeping issuing from all the speakers. Bella came awake shrieking, Joshua’s crying joining hers in seconds. Coming out of her twin bed, Bella threw herself at Clint’s legs, wrapping her arms and legs around him, hobbling him in place. Maggie picked up Joshua and juggled the wriggling boy onto her hip.

“Bella, baby girl.” Clint tucked his pistol in his waistband and bent over to pull the girl into his arms. “Papa needs to you to go with Maggie. Remember we talked about this. Papa’s rule number one.”

“No.” She clung to Clint, burying her head along his shoulder. “I’m scared. Want Papa.”

“You know what happens if you’re a good girl and go with Maggie?” Clint was torn between soothing Bella and protecting them by finding out what the hell was going on.

“Ice cream for dinner.” She whispered into his skin, her eyes peeking up at Clint.

“For a week,” Clint promised. The encouragement worked; Bella slowly released her hold and Clint sat her down on the floor, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“Agent Barton, we have hostiles in the building,” Jarvis said.”Two groups of six, one coming in through the garage, another from the landing pad. Miss Potts is on her way to the panic room; I suggest the same for your family.”

His heart spasmed as he looked at his kids. They’d planned for this eventuality; it was always a possibility that they would be in the line of fire some day, but Clint hadn’t expected a quick trip to Malibu to visit Disneyland to be the moment someone chose to attack Tony’s beach house.

“Maggie, take her.” He looked at the middle aged woman who could take on a phalanx of ninjas and never blink. “Jarvis, institute protocol seven omega six.”

Slinging Josh onto one hip, she opened her other arm and took the squirming girl up next to her brother. Clint dropped a kiss onto both of their heads and took a protective stance as a door slid open in the wall behind Josh’s bed and Maggie stepped through. Tony had insisted on emergency access upgrades after the last attempt on his life; the elevator would whisk them straight to the panic room where they’d be as safe as Clint could possibly make them.

Gunfire erupted; the sharp retorts echoed up the stairway. Clint plastered himself along the wall, pausing to judge the distance based upon the echoes. A loud blast -- Tony’s repulsors -- and the rumble of shifting concrete followed as he eased down until he could peer around the corner and see the empty living room. The grand piano made a good cover; he dashed the rest of the way and slipped behind it, checking the corridor to the kitchen and the outer patio, visible through large sliding glass doors. Two … three men in full tactical gear, automatic weapons in hand, were making their way past the curve of the bedroom wing, heading straight for Clint. He waited, fingering the bowstring with one hand and the stiff fletching with the other, his internal clock keeping watch on the time.

As they crept past the doors and into the room, one peeled off and started down the stairs to the workshop while two headed across the expanse, passing in front of the fireplace on their way to the upper levels. Clint popped up and took them out with three arrows, quick pop, pop, pops of the hits lost in the sound of an explosion rocking up from below. Scuttling over to the nearest body, Clint checked quickly, snagging an earbud and an automatic weapon.

A blast from Tony’s repulsor slammed into the concrete wall above the stairs and feet clattered. Diving behind the couch, Clint started picking off the men in black as they boiled up into the living room. Caught between Tony and Clint, four more went down.

“Beach cleared; beta standing by,” Clint heard in his ear as Tony flew into the room.

“There’s more outside,” Clint said.

“Others?” Tony asked, hovering above the floor.

“Safe. The garage?” Clint knew Jarvis would have told Tony of Phil’s imminent arrival.

“No egress there. Check the kitchen door; I’ll take the helipad. Meet me at the beach.”

Tony flew out the shattered glass of the back patio; Clint turned his focus on the southern wing, easing into the hallway, checking each door as he went. Empty exercise room. No one in the massage area or pool changing rooms. Tony had too many damn rooms in this house, Clint thought as he peeked around the corner of the monster sized kitchen filled with shiny stainless steel and slick granite countertops. In the reflection of the double wide Viking fridge, Clint saw a flicker of movement from the back entryway. He waited until three more came fully into the kitchen and then took them out. Bullets ripped into the opposite wall as he jerked his head back, shattering the plate glass window into a shower of sharp shards.

“Bogey in the southwest hall by the kitchen,” one of the men said over the comms. “Omega Team, go.”

Damn it, how many of these guys were there? Clint wondered. Too organized and well-funded -- the guns alone were top tech -- this was an invasion force. Dashing across the doorway, Clint shot three more arrows then entered the kitchen, using the big island as cover. They were boiling up from the stairs that led down to lower pool access; Clint picked them off one-by-one until he had only two arrows left and they were all down. Taking a moment to gather up his shafts, he stuck them back in his quiver and headed for the pool.

The stairs widened and curved around the wall of the house, opening out onto a flagstone floor. A bar marked the edge of the pool, and the retractable wall was partially rolled down to cut off access from the outside portion. Only one door exited onto the sundeck where more stairs headed down to the beach. It stood open, left that way when the attackers had entered; Clint saw a shadow fall across the jamb and he prepared an arrow for whoever came in.

“What’s the situation?” Phil asked, stepping into the room. He closed and secured the door behind him. “We’ve got two groups on the beach, at least fourteen more.”

“Six in the kitchen, eight in the living room. Tony’s in the suit and everyone else is in the panic room. No clue about their goals, but I’ve got ears on the feed.” Clint  immediately fell in with Phil, turning to guard the stairs. “They don’t seem to know about you.”

“Jarvis warned me …”

The door blew inward and three men tumbled through, firing as they came. Clint managed to get off a shot before they rushed them and then it was close-in fighting. Clint balanced on the edge of the pool, almost falling in, running across the submerged stools then flipping off the bar and taking out one of the men with a knife strike. Phil had one down and was grappling with second when a movement. of the water caught his eye. Three men were swimming under the retractable wall. Opening his bow, Clint’s arrow hit the switch; sparks showered and the wall slammed down, pinning two of the three at the bottom of the pool. The other erupted out of the water, launching himself at Clint. An arrow caught the man mid-leap; he fell back into the pool, floating near the bar.

“We need to sweep the pool area,” Phil said, pulling an earpiece from one of the bodies and taking another semi-automatic.

A hiss and a series of thumps; down the stairs rolled a gas canister, blue tinted smoke billowing out.

“Masks!” Clint grabbed one from the nearest body; the glass was cracked. He sucked in a breath and ran for the closest body on the stairs and took that one. He tightened the straps and turned to see Phil doing the same.  Motioning up the stairs, Phil took the lead, heading back towards the kitchen.

The explosion rocked the floor, tossing Clint back; he hit the hard stone wall and pain lanced through head and his left side. Dust and particulates filled the air, obscuring his vision; a sharp static pulse made his ears rings, drown every other sound. Every move send jagged shots of agony up his spine. Unable to see or hear, he ran his fingers down his side and felt a sharp piece of metal sticking out of his stomach.  Clint blinked and  tried to get his bearings. The outer door and the pool wall were intact, but debris clogged the stairway, covering the bodies completely and spilling out into the room. The gas still billowed , filling the smaller area much faster, burning where it touched Clint’s bare skin.

 

He had to find Phil, pain or no pain.  Feeling his way forward, Clint caught a glimpse of black pants and dress shoe amid the rubble. If he dragged his swiftly numbing leg, he could get to Phil before he had to sit back down to get the leverage to free his husband. Eyes closed, Phil was unconscious but had a slow steady heartbeat; there was a splash of red on his temple. The problem was the big crack in Phil’s mask; blue gas was already seeping inside.

Clint had few options and even those were dwindling. He’d seen enough stomach wounds to know that removing the metal would be worse than leaving it in. Either way, the bright red blood that covered his hands meant he had very little time before it was too late for him. Bleeding out from a gut wound was an ugly way to go. With only one working mask, the one with the best chance of survival needed it.

Taking a deep breath, Clint yanked off his own mask, reached over and took the broken one from Phil. With an economy of motion -- each tiny shift drove the knife of pain deeper -- Clint slipped the working mask over Phil’s face. Then there was nothing to do but lean against Phil’s side, close his eyes and exhale. The gas was drawn in; a metallic taste flooded over his tongue, swelling the mucus membranes and shutting off the passageway to his lungs. Corrosive, the gas burned his eyes, his vision turned red; only the sound of rushing blood filled his ears. One last glance up at Phil who was breathing easily now then Clint convulsed once, coughing long and loud. His last minutes were to be in physical agony but his heart was calm. Phil would take care of the kids; Phil would live. That was enough. The pain grew worse, throat on fire, head pounding, his legs going numb.  Even his hold on Phil was slipping as his fingers loosened, muscles going limp …

Then he was standing, looking down at his body, the patches of red on his face and his bulging eyes. Shocked, he held his hands up, stared at his clean fingers, touched his side and found no wound.

“Okay. I’m dead, I get it.” He’d heard stories like this, after death experiences. If it got really bright, he should head into the light. But he was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be heaven where he was heading.

“No you’re not dead. Not yet anyway,” the woman beside him said. Dressed in green silk, a loosely belted top fell in waves around her white pants. A riot of red curls were gathered back with a matching scarf; expressive blue eyes sparkled with repressed humor. “Think of this as a time out. Literally. We’ve stepped out of the time stream.”

So many strange things had happened in Clint’s life that he didn’t bat an eye at that statement. “Okay, like Doctor Who? Wibbley Wobbley. I’ll bite. Why are we in a time out?”

“Come with me and I’ll show you.” She held out a hand with elegant red nails.

Clint hesitated, his eyes drawn to Phil, so limp and still. “I can’t leave him,” Clint said.

“He’s going to be fine,” she promised. “Would you like to see?”

As if they were standing on a rock in the middle of a stream, time began to flow around them. The door burst open, Tony flying in. Then the scene flashed forward and medics came in, bundling Phil onto a gurney; Thor was there, Steve too. It was Steve who carried Clint’s body, his eyes red with unshed tears.

“He has a concussion. Bad enough, but he’ll recover thanks to you giving him your mask.” Her hand extended again. “Now come with me and I’ll explain.”

So Clint fell in step with her, up the suddenly cleared stairs. At the top, Clint stepped onto the deck outside his and Phil’s apartment in Stark Tower. “Okay, not just out of time, eh? Location too?”

“Actually, you picked the location because it feels safe.” Now in a pair of jeans, a grey tank and a purple leather jacket, she leaned against the railing.  

“Okay, let’s hear it. Who are you and why am I here.?” The back of Clint’s neck was itching. Aliens? Witches? Robots? HYDRA? This whole thing smacked of coordination. An attack and now this?

“Come on. You know who I am.” She smiled, a crooked little turn of her lips, and Clint saw it in the tilt of her head, then slight curve of her nose.

“Bella?” His baby girl that he’d sent to the panic room, all grown up.  “Okay, this is all in my head.”

“I’m a mutant, Pop, just like my mother was. That’s why she self-medicated with drugs and booze; can you imagine what the General and Pauline would have done when they found out?” Bella shook her head, her curls bouncing . “They certainly wouldn’t let her besmirch the Coulson name with such odd behavior. Fortunately, I was adopted by people who not only understood mutants but happened to know the foremost expert in the country. Like you always say, it was your job to give me every unfair advantage you could.”

“Stepping out of time. That’s what you can do?” Clint couldn’t believe this beautiful woman, so confident and in control, was Bella of the Temper Tantrums. It was every dream he had for her come true.

“More like becoming untethered and riding the currents,” she explained.  

“Time is a river?” He’d seen enough movies about time travel to have a handle on the basic physics involved.

“More like a subway system.  There are points where it is easier to step out and some places where multiple lines overlap. New York City, for example. At least twenty seven different lines can be accessed from Central Park alone.” She crossed her ankles, resting her weight on her elbows as she leaned on the railing. “But that’s not why we’re here. I’m here so you can make an informed choice.”

“About?” He could see the city reflected in the mirrored windows. “Let me guess. Life or death.”

She laughed, and Clint wanted to bottle that sound to keep it with him always. “Can’t get anything by you, Pop.  You’ve got two doors to pick from. Door number one is what comes next; I can’t tell you anything about it because I’ve can’t go there, but I do know it’s peaceful and you get to rest until Dad joins you.”

“I don’t believe in an afterlife,” Clint told her. “And if I did, I wouldn’t be going anywhere peaceful.”

“I have it on very good authority that you’re on the nice list,” she replied. “Just putting up with me and Josh is enough for the price of admission.”

“And option 2? Life?” Clint asked.

“It will be painful; you know the wounds you had.” Bella reached out and took Clint’s hand. “And the things that are to come … You’ve done so much good already, had so many hurts. You deserve the choice.”

“You think I’d leave you or Phil or Josh or the others?” Clint couldn’t imagine it. “I’ll deal with whatever comes.”

“It’s going to be bad, Poppa. That’s why they allowed me to come to you. You will have to live with your decision; we all will.”

“Something happens … happened … didn’t it? I had to have lived before to get you Charles’ help. Will have lived? Did live? Damn it, I was never good at grammar to start with.” Clint shook his head. “Just tell me it to me straight.”

She sighed. “And thus why you and Dad are perfect for each other. No matter how bad, you just want to know the facts so you can make a plan. Not like Uncle Tony who rushes in without any thought of if he should.”

The pain pierced through his head, and Clint screamed, falling to his knees. Like a drill bit curling into his brain, the incessant whine made his teeth chatter.

“Papa.” Bella’s hands curved around his face. “We’ve got to hurry. Stay with me.”

The agony receded; Clint opened his eyes. “What the …”

“I can only hold you here so long,” Bella said. “But I have to …”

“Then send me back. There’s no other choice,” Clint interrupted as the pain ghosted back.

Her smile shook at the edges as she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I hope you understand one day.”

Heat burned as her fingertips traced along the inside of his wrist. He fell into a darkness filled with razors and sharp points; no matter which way he turned, another sliced into his skin. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t, a tight binding keeping his lids closed. Heartbeat throbbed behind his eyes, in his ears, in the center of his chest, pounding the spikes of agony further into his joints. He thrashed, tried to cry out; like gargling with ground glass, a thousand tiny cuts filled his throat with blood.

Dash dot. Dot dash. Dash ...  Dash dot. Dot Dash. Dash … Dash dot. Dot Dash. Dash.

It took far too long for Clint to focus on the touch, to lock away the pain. He stilled and the finger tapped again, the same code over and over again. N … A … T.  Nat. Natasha. Even the flex of his pointer finger seemed impossible, but Clint managed to tap a reply on the cotton sheet.

Dot dash dash dot. Dot dot dot dot. Dot dot. Dot dash dot dot.  First and only question … how was Phil.

Dash dash dash. Dash dot dash.

Then Natasha spelled out “kids” and followed with another OK. Squeezing his fingers, she lifted his hand and, very gently, brushed his fingers over the gauze that covered his eyes. Then the tubing that fed air into his bandaged nose, the top of the intubation tube that blocked his throat.  When she went to put his hand back down, Clint instead touched his ear, or at least the dressing.

Another quick series of dashes and dots told him to keep his eyes closed; someone began to remove the bandages, a layer at a time. Light filtered through his lids; ever so slowly, he eased them open. Fuzzy dark shapes hovered; a wet rag wiped away antibiotic gel. The figures came into focus. Natasha bending over him, her fingers trailing along the side of his face. Behind her, Bruce held up a tablet with words glowing on the screen.

*Phil’s under observation but is fine. Bella and Josh are with Maggie. Tony and Pepper are safe.*

Absently trying to shake his head, Clint immediately stopped as the pain made the top of his skull explode.

*Don’t move. You’re damn lucky to be alive*

Clint tapped out a response on Natasha’s skin; she repeated it to Bruce.  Still, Clint heard nothing.

*It’s bad* Bruce spoke and the words appeared. *Collapsed lung, internal bleeding, tissue damage. The lining of your throat and sinus passages needs to be repaired and have time to heal. We won’t know the extent of the damage until the swelling goes down.*

He tapped his ear to get his point across.

*The explosion ruptured your eardrums; it’s a waiting game to determine what that means*

Who? Clint tapped on Natasha’s hand.

*A.I.M. They wanted an experiment Tony and Hank were working on. They didn’t get it.*

Panic bubbled up in Clint , buoyed by the swift undercurrent of pain. He squeezed Nat’s fingers then frantically tapped. Useless. No good. Phil. Bella. Josh.

*Stop it.* Natasha glared at him. The words on the screen were filled with her inflection. *Tony’s already done the martyr speech. He was going full on Frankenstein when he thought you were dead. It’s not your fault. You are not useless and if you say that again I’m going to kick your ass.*

The door opened and Tony spilled in, chattering animatedly, his hands moving as punctuation to whatever he was saying. Natasha’s hand tightened on Clint’s; only he could see the tension that ran through her body. Words were exchanged and Clint caught an occasional phrase; being a sniper for all those years meant he picked up basic lip reading skills. Something about Dr. Cho and skin and his fault. Clint strained to make out anything, the least noise, but all he got was an increase in the buzzing in his skull. Each breath was a rasp against raw skin, the tiniest movement agonizing. He closed his eyes and tried not to vomit as nausea overtook him.

* * *

 

Clint shifted Josh in his arms -- the boy had been especially clingy since Malibu -- and offered him some more goldfish. Professor X had wisely chosen a quiet lounge filled with toys at the back of the mansion for the testing.

“May I?” Charles Xavier held out his hand and waited for Clint to agree. No one liked having their mind invaded, but being able to carry on a conversation easily was worth the risk, so Clint nodded. With a simple touch, Charles’s voice solidified in Clint’s head. “Thank you.”

Three months of intense rehab and Clint’s voice was still raspy and his mobility limited. In terms of his hearing, the doctors held out hope but Clint had accepted that he’d lost it completely in his left ear and over 65% in his right. Learning sign language was Phil and Natasha’s answer; they’d arranged family lessons so everyone could get the basics. Bella was a natural and Josh was picking it up fast; Clint was the one left in the dust as the kids moved further and further ahead.

After Clint had refused all of Tony’s outlandish ideas for experimental surgeries, Tony had jumped on the hearing aids bandwagon, producing a steady line of upgraded models for Clint to try. None of them worked perfectly finding the right balance between sensitivity and durability was proving virtually impossible. Although Clint had liked the wifi hotspot and mini-Jarvis; made getting directions a hell of a lot easier. The latest hardware from Stark sort-of worked about 70% of the time, but filtering out static and ambient noise was a complicated process. Half the time Clint was bombarded by every little sound at the same volume, a cacophony that gave him headaches. Right now, he had them turned low; only a loud noise would filter through with enough warning to react.

Rolling his wheelchair over to the table where Bella was building an elaborate castle with duplo blocks, Charles smiled as the girl dropped a handful of blocks in his lap without a word. “What are we building?” he asked.

“You know, silly,” Bella replied, her voice a happy echo in Clint’s head. Waving her hand over the big and purple monstrosity, she giggled. “A school. I’m going to be a teacher; I’ll make them do their morning work.”

“And what are you going to teach? Math? Literature?” Charles passed over one block, his fingers brushing Bella’s.

“I’m going to tell stories like Daddy does ‘bout the ‘Vengers.” Such certainty; Clint envied her black and white answers.

Josh squirmed, a distinct smell wafting up from his training pants. He was doing better but excitement like a visit to a new place could throw his control. Hardest part was not making a big deal out of it; Josh had already been taught that he couldn’t do anything right. So Clint snuggled his nose into Josh’s curls and took the boy into the nearby bathroom as he giggled. Changing took only a few moments, but Josh escaped from Clint’s hands and went running out into the room. At least he had on a pull-up; kid had no problem being bare assed naked any time, any place.

“Sorry,” Clint told Charles as Josh barrelled his way around the furniture, jumping up on what looked like an antique couch.

“Not a problem. Children have so much energy,” Charles said. “He’s fine.”

Snatching up Josh, Clint winced as the movement made his hearing aids squeal. A series of crackles burst into his ears. “Ow, fu… fudge.” He got one of the offending devices out, tossing it a table and went for the second.

Before he could touch it, Josh closed his fist around it. “Fix Poppa!” he said. One of his favorite phrases, he had learned it from Tony.

“Thanks, buddy,” Clint said, gently moving Josh back a few inches. “I think we’ll let Uncle Tony look at …”

Like flicking on the surround button, the sounds of the room came to life, spreading into levels of depth and distances. Clint could hear Bella’s half-hum she made as she worked, the swish of her shoe as she swung her foot, the tick of Phil’s watch, and the creak of an unoiled joint in Xavier’s chair.

“All done,” Josh declared. “Gofish?”

“Sure.” Clint sat him down and handed the plastic cup with snack crackers.

“What happened?” Phil asked, a hand on Clint’s back.

“I don’t think Bella’s the only one who needs testing,” Clint said, looking at Charles. “I think he just fixed my hearing aid.”

“Technopath. Yes, we’ll include him as well,” Charles agreed  He turned to the little boy in Clint’s arms.  “Hello, Josh. Would you like to come see our lab? We have lots of things to fix there.”

“Me too!” Bella cried, jumping up. “You promised, Papa!”

Raising two children while being an Avenger wasn’t an easy job; when both of those children turned out to be mutants with unique abilities, that just made things more difficult. Learning to deal with a hearing disability at the same time? Well, that fell into Clint’s ‘life-is-even-more-fucked-up-than-I-knew’ philosophy. Expecting the worse didn’t make it any easier when it happened;  Clint still had dark moods, days when he wanted to give up, when he doubted his usefulness. SHIELD promised they would stand behind him -- that was a lie.  They might let him retire gracefully but if they knew about Bella and Josh, they’d want to put them on the watch list. No way in hell was Clint letting anyone know the true extent of the kids’ abilities. Period.

But, it turned out, there were promises Clint believed. That Phil would do everything in his power … and then some … to come home to Clint. That Clint would move heaven and earth for his husband and kids. That when the Avengers said Clint always had a place in their ranks, they meant no one would go easy on him in practice and that he’d be expected to fight right alongside them, hearing aids or no hearing aids.. That everyone in the Tower would put themselves between the kids and anyone who wanted to cause them harm. All this, Clint knew without a doubt.

Bad times were coming. But Clint’s little family would weather the winds of change and come out the other side stronger. That wasn’t a promise, it was a fact.  And one he was going to be prepared to keep.

 

 


End file.
